


but with a twist

by isoldewas



Category: Mr. Iglesias (TV)
Genre: Couches, F/M, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Showers, but silent ones, lots of hand jobs, roommates with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 20:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isoldewas/pseuds/isoldewas
Summary: Abby gets a boyfriend, Tony gets roommates, Danny gets a handjob.





	but with a twist

**Author's Note:**

> did not like the show, mind began to wander

First, there is Paula, swaying on her almost inappropriately high heels on the first day of the new year. “And here’s the new teacher I promised y’all.”

Cut to a tall redhead with a blinding smile and way too much excitement. Cut to Tony, staring, face blank. Cut to Gabe, landing a punchline, retroactively turning a matter of fact moment into situational comedy. It goes right over Tony’s head, but Ray chokes on his sip of coffee.

For six months that follow Tony catches himself staring at Abby’s kaleidoscope of polka dots and narrow stripes. He refuses to do something about it. 

It’s a waste of time. It’s bound to always happen again.

In spite of a life’s worth of experiencing the opposite, Tony kind of assumed it would be easy. Boy meets girl and all that. Call him an optimist. (And then never call him that again.)

Gabe makes something of the kids, although he’s against that turn of phrase, people are always already something, you’ve just gotta believe. That’s some bullshit. But that’s where Gabe’s at.

Other than that, nothing’s changed.

Tony’s supposed to improve as a human apparently, honor students some kind of a get-well-soon card from Paula. He doesn’t.

Abby gets more into her own. Declares herself a fan of yoga, silent retreats and gluten free food and what’s wrong with him that none of that is an alarm sign?

He isn’t sure whether she’s joking or not, whether she’s more naive or deliberately cruel when she congratulates him on picking up on signals, on being a good friend, on never needing anything from her.

She must know. This naive optimism of hers is obviously a ploy, a twisted form of power play. Let’s be fair, school is politics on a lesser scale. Abby can’t power up on her convictions alone, she must be faking.

But then a moment later she looks genuinely interested in whatever coach had to offer, so Tony goes back on his “obviously.”

Before he used to smoke during recess. Now he’s down to one or two a week, all thanks to the amount of time he spends in the teacher's lounge, hoping to strike up a conversation.

Maybe he is an optimist. He’s still kind of waiting for Abby to say yes.

“I believe in him,” she says cheerfully, looking at them from across the room, pouring hot water in her herbal tea. That’s another thing about her. She walks in and considers herself a part of the conversation. 

“No no no, Abby, Mikey isn’t like that,” Gabe says, turning slightly right, facing her.

He wants to start an actual poll on whether Mickey’ll tell Marisol he likes her.

“Not like that,” Gabe says, gesturing vaguely at where Tony’s sitting.

He likes the idea of Danny from the get-go. A vague forceful presence that’s got a grasp on Abby’s life, to the point where it doesn’t matter if there is a Tony, sounded very nice. Like a rainy day is a nice enough excuse out of a parent-teacher conference slash picnic. 

Danny, the very existence of the mythical South Dakota college football star, became an inherent part of the narrative, absolving Tony of his faults. She’s not over her ex. Now that’s simple. Now that doesn’t hurt.

Sending her flowers, cookies from her favorite bakery that turn stale in transit, writing poems that don’t rhyme because that’s apparently a style, naming stars after her, and how would that even work. It doesn’t even register with Tony that beyond Long Beach, there is a real man actively trying to get her back.

Tony criticises him relentlessly, on a daily basis because Abby finds a reason to bring him up, every goddamn day. Gabe’s reeling him in every time, it’s a running gag by now. Her walking in, him alluding to his ever ongoing crush, Gabe’s gentle hand on his. _Shut up man._

He retorts unflinching with something along the lines of “Haven’t we moved on? I know I have.” He says exactly that one day and the conversation spirals down from there to the point where Tony’s beginning Gabe to make one goddamn call.  
Gabe gives in.

Tony darts his eyes to where she’s standing, hands on her hips, a lock of hair out of place in the tall ponytail. 

Abby’s stupidly excited about the coach and his plan to beat up the guy. She almost misses it when Gabe says yes.

Cut to a day later, when by a gross lapse of judgement, a gigantic overestimation of his own charms, Danny walks right into the teacher’s lounge. And back into the narrative: a diluted idea is really a six feet four college football star of a man, and Tony’s pretty sure he actually calls him beautiful at one point. There is no way to tell.

It snaps itself together when he sees Danny at their usual table at DeBlasio’s.

Danny’s kicking things off with Johnnie Walker and lotto tickets. Playing into his bad habits like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. He plays off everyone with such determination to get it exactly right. 

“Abby left something out,” he says.

It could be filled with tension, this pause he takes. The set of words perfect for waiting it out, seeing what’ll give. But Danny’s not doing that. He’s just honest when he adds: “How handsome you are.”

The ominous “she forgot to mention you were hot” is a genuine compliment, and something that has no bearing on the state of affairs.

Tony keeps coming back to it. _How handsome you are._

Abby left that out. (She probably didn’t notice.) Danny noticed. (He also thought it’d be worth mentioning.)

Danny goes to the bar and left outside of his direct line of sight, Tony’s able to pull himself together enough to call bullshit. “No one is this nice,” and Tony himself is suddenly convinced. Maybe it’ll even stick, he thinks as he watches Danny make his way back. Maybe he’s going to be able to see through. To know exactly how to counter his niceness.

But Danny comes back: instead of sitting down he’s standing, one foot on the chair. And there’s no way to counter that.

Abby stares at Danny just like Tony stares at him. And then Abby looks straight at Tony, both of them unable to shake the adoration off their faces fast enough. 

Paula’s a nice counterpart throughout the evening. Tony plays off her, unnoticed by anyone but Gabe. But then Gabe isn’t enough of a jerk to go and make this really weird really fast. So it holds.

Danny tells them about that one time he saved a cat from a tree or a burning building or an abusive owner or maybe it was three cats. It’s hard to follow up on his story, every question left unanswered as Danny laughs it off, ruffling his perfect hair and changing the subject abruptly.

Tony leans back in his chair and watches. Just like Abby, he seems a bit too excited, too in his own. Might be worth a trip to South Dakota, just to see whether people there are all wound up this way. 

Abby’s eyes keep darting between them.

It’s nice how Tony doesn’t feel threatened in the least.

Not threatened. Intrigued.

Tony studies the way she smiles, the corners of her mouth rising of their own accord. The cut of her jaw framed by a lock of hair, she pushes it aside as she turns to him.

Well, to Gabe. “You gotta convince him to go home.”

He’s got a lot to say to that but he picks up his glass, and shuts himself up. Gabe’s got confidence, a right set of words, a shoulder to cry on. Tony’s got— _feelings._

_Convince him to go home,_ huh. If she were to ask it of him, Tony’d be useless. He couldn’t possibly make the words ring true. _Leave._ Yeah, sure, that’s what you want. 

“When I look him in the eye I go all wobbly,” she complains. Be it a glass of Walker or Danny (him, him, him— her), but Tony knows exactly what she means: “I know, right?” 

For once he’s exactly where she’s at. Abby’s eyes dart to his for a second. Well, maybe not _exactly._

Walking out of DeBlasio’s, Abby trips over the pavement, that third glass of red wine one too many. Danny catches her by the arm crying _Shortcakes!_ and he doesn’t let go. His hand settles on her hip, his mouth almost on her cheek as he leans down to check up on her. 

Tony’s leaning onto the brick wall, watching that near fall and the close save, appreciative more than anything else. It doesn’t even occur to him until later that they were supposed to be rivals in this.

For one, it’s not a competition. And even if it— it’s not even close. And two. They aren’t competing, they just aren’t. It’s not what this is. 

Abby’s leaning into Danny without even noticing, their bodies a perfect match, lean and tall and so goddamn pretty. How do you compete with something you desperately want to be a part of?

Tony slips his phone out of a pocket and goes to Abby’s Facebook page. He types the first two letters and that right there, that beaming open expression, sunlit and forever mid breath, that version of Danny stares up at him, waving into the camera. What an asshole.

Abby laughs, the sound so sharp and unfamiliar, Tony lifts his head. They are still standing there, waiting for her taxi. Both are looking at him and he nods in their general direction, finger hovering over the _add friend._

He remembers the photo from the friend suggestions. And, first of all, rude. Do I know him? No. Do I want to put my hands on him? Sure. It’s a _yes_ or _fuck yeah_ type of situation, a demented Bandersnatch edition of his own life.

Their car arrives, and now Danny’s sharing a ride with her: economy, money, habit, the fact that he’s apparently irresistible.

Tony stumbles as he approaches the pair of them, Abby’s hands holding on to Danny.  
She untangles herself from him, fumbling in her bag for the phone, getting in the car. Her long legs take up the entire back seat before she settles her feet on the car floor.

Danny waits for a second before getting in and Tony treats that as a signal, a sign, surely. His hands reach Danny’s shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath, if only for a split second before he goes in for a hug.

In no way does it feel like a trespass. Danny’s leaning in. He’s very huggable, really: sunny disposition and hypnotic eyes and strong arms and the sheer height of him very inviting.

His head hurts. Half a day goes down in a blur. He struggles with recounting the events of The French Revolution of whatever century and the honor students correct him. 

By the time he lays eyes on the insistent patterns of Abby’s clothes, she’s all decided.

She walks down the hallway towards him, hand in hand with Paula, and the first thing she does is point at Tony. She’s not going to allow for any more of that.

Before he catches up, it reads like he’s at fault and so he thinks back to the Facebook request or the hug or the comments he’s made in the last ten months. 

But no. She’s saying Danny’s got to go.

Tony nods his head eagerly at that, unaware of the unpleasant thing her words bring out. 

In the teacher’s lounge Danny’s talking to Gabe. Figures.

Gabe’s eating at the cookie from that bakery he really likes. Danny must really know what he’s doing. He inserts himself into their lives with such ease. It’s like, day two, and he’d picked up on Paula’s drinking, Tony’s gambling, Gabe’s general niceness. He’s got the entirety of their group dynamic it would seem, in one sitting.

It’s equal parts impressive and scary; Tony’s vision of the man depends entirely on how close to Danny he’s standing. Abby’s too, maybe: the next thing out of Danny’s mouth is marry me, and it cuts the air in the room.

Abby grins.

Tony watches this in slow motion, Danny getting on his knee, Paula’s “look, you are the same height” ringing extremely loud, Abby extending her hand, shifting into her familiar _this is the best day of my life_ attitude.

Danny’s got wrinkles around his eyes, he’s smiling so wide. They step closer to each other, a not so subtle shift instant and irretrievable. 

Every gesture Danny makes from now on tugs at her too. 

Even when four hours later at the bar she goes back on her yes, she’s standing closer, holding her ground against him, impossibly tall and bright and newly brave.

“Abby, don’t look in his eyes,” Paula gives out the last piece of advice before the big showdown. Tony’s this close to snapping _how could she not,_ and wow, he says that out loud.

But Abby’s brave now, she stares right into that blue and breaks off the engagement, an entire life, unlived, with a single albeit incredibly, unnecessarily long sentence.

The distance reasserts itself, subtler that a simple step back or two feet between them at all times. Her eyes, the pause she takes, the angle of her neck, everything’s closed off, closed in.

Danny wavers. It’s a split second, but it’s there, he swings for the fences and comes up empty, his face carefully blank.

That too, Tony watches in slow motion, the tear in his expression, the flat stare just before he grins and turns to her again. Promises he’ll fight. Words, words, words, but they hit in all the right places.

Abby brushes her hair off her shoulder, turning an inch to her left and there it is: she isn’t completely closed off anymore.

It’ll work, Tony can see how it will.

Danny’s staying and Tony can feel everything about him relaxing into the news. It’s not over yet. It could start. 

Tony looks up at Danny. “So you think we could’ve like, Facebook friends?”

“Facebook?,” he laughs, “We’re gonna be roommates!” Danny says it like an announcement, like he’s worked on this voice to tell his parents about the engagement.

He also says it like it’s self-evident. Like Tony should have offered it already. Danny just assumes he’s going to get a yes.

Tony catches his eye. “To Danny,” he says, unguarded.

Danny’s off, back to Sioux Falls, finishing up his contract and then back to Long Beach. All in all, two week’s time. He has time to find a lead on a new job, google top ten romantic places and figure out the route from Tony’s place to the school. It doesn’t occur to him apparently to find a place of his own.

To be fair, Tony’s kind of looking forward to that.

Tony knows how to be friends. See Gabe. He knows how to be civil. See his job description. He knows how to set unattainable goals: Abby. 

He doesn’t know how to do this: Danny accepts his friend request two weeks after he moves in. 

Danny’s all over Abby, sending her flowers and shit. Poems, cards, pastries in fancy boxes with ribbons on them. Abby gets flushed, gets up, nervous and giddy, irritated and delighted at whatever small thing is in her hand.

She’s dead set on not letting Danny in. Not all of it is about the cheating.

Danny disturbs something Abby can’t quite hide away. It surges forward at times, inevitable and overwhelming, makes her say things like “who does he think he is,” “fuck off,” and “damn he’s good.”

She talks in vague sentences about the damage Danny caused, which always coincides with her commentary on Californian real estate prices.

At school Danny’s something of an urban legend, a point of pride Paula tries to somehow turn into publicity for the school. He’s really selling this. 

And if Tony just saw that, he’ll be there with everyone else. But then he goes home. 

He sees this legend go to the gym and to work, to the bars to watch football. Tony watches as he makes friends in an instant. He’s just a man, then, a college football star with his accent surging through, but still. Just a man who forgets to do the dishes and never cleans and talks too loud on the phone. Who’s so unnervingly annoyingly stupid hot.

Abby gives in, eventually. As everything important in their relationship, it happens in the teacher’s lounge. 

Danny walks in, a bouquet of white lilies in his hands and she jumps his bones, quite literally. Danny’s hands land on Abby’s hips. The flowers fall to the floor around them, a 3D rendering of modern romance.

The first thing on Tony’s mind is _shit._

He expects the awkward talk. He expects it to happen any minute now, every time Danny leans across the table and opens his mouth, Tony expects for Abby take over Danny’s existence.

But she doesn’t. Danny doesn’t talk about moving out. Instead, over a second beer, Abby’s hand in his, he leans across the table and asks Tony whether she can sleep over.

Tony says yes before registering the question.

Tony thinks back to when he hired a decorator for his newly rented apartment. (They ended up making out on his couch, which was like sixty percent of why he hired her.)

She kept insisting everything in your home is supposed to be an extension of you.

Well, Abby’s friends with Gabe now and as she sees it, being the “annoying neighbor” is a real faux pas. So she spends an awful lot of time on Tony’s couch.

Coming home, Tony’s eyes dart to her and to him on that damn couch, in what he can only assume are their matching college T-shirts, Abby’s pale legs curled up in Danny’s lap. 

That’s where they have sex too, and he knows that in intimate detail. The impromptu roommates with loud clear voices and not enough self-consciousness. He hates that.

He knows _that._ He used to be exactly _that._

Gabe would shout for him to cut it out. Through the wall of their dorm, Gabe’s voice was distant, surreal, easily ignored. And he’d just laugh, burying his face in a girl’s shoulder. That lasted four years: the dorm, the girl, the shouting on both ends. How did Gabe manage?

But then again, there is him and there is Tony. Half in love with the pair of people who don’t take him into account. 

Who wouldn’t know how to.

He keeps thinking how the couch is supposed to be him or something.

Abby’s slowly entangles herself into this apartment.

Day in, day out, the two of them share meals on his kitchen table, a high counter with a set of bar stools Tony ordered off Amazon. The toes of Abby’s feet nearly touch the floor. 

He stumbles onto Vogue magazines on the kitchen counter, in the bathroom and, once, in between the stack of his papers as he fumbles through them during class.

He preheats his dinner, and to the white noise of the microwave adds Abby’s laughter as they walk into the apartment. She laughs about the cute thing Molly did, and Tony vaguely remembers a Molly among this year’s sophomores, but then Danny, completely aware of this Molly in Abby’s class, sounds almost outraged: “But she’s usually so shy.”

Tony sees other stuff too. 

He sees how Abby gets when she knows Danny isn’t looking, his eyes locked in on a wrestling match. How her mouth sets in a tight line. Testing. Waiting for it all to go to shit.

Tony sees how Danny turns his head to check a woman out. That one is much less subtle. 

How they do the dishes, and yes, thanks to Abby, they do the dishes now, but silent, concentrated, detached from the task and from each other. How, together, they are more than a sum of parts, but a bright white collision. Tony can’t avert his eyes.

He sometimes catches Abby sprinting to Danny’s room in the morning or Danny, a bright coloured towel hanging low on his hips. Somehow those are the only times either of them seems even mildly embarrassed.

They are also very inconsiderate with their timing.

On most days his and Abby’s schedules are alike, and between the two of them Tony isn’t the one who should be changing his routine to accommodate, he doesn’t think. 

He keeps getting up at the exact same hour which is apparently two minutes too late. He opens his eyes and the water starts running, mocking him.

He has trouble sleeping. They are loud, young; it’s their honeymoon, it’s his thin walls.

The noises Danny makes when he’s about to come is a thing Tony can recognise now. He doesn’t think he’s supposed to though. He knows that Abby dictates exactly what she wants Danny to do to her when she’s had a shitty day. She won’t like Tony knowing that either.

They have no boundaries. He takes himself in his hand in sync with the squeaking of the bed.

He can’t talk it out with them. 

He could bring Gabe into it, maybe. But the man’s got a big heart and a sound mind, he’ll see through it. He’ll advise Tony to move, to move them out, hell, he’ll make the call himself. And they’ll listen too.

Tony doesn’t want them out. He wants in.

Tony decides to at least start the conversation on boundaries, limits and the use of common space. He wakes up and instead of waiting till the water stops running, he goes to the bathroom door. They’ll have to notice him waiting.

The floor is cool under his bare feet, and, and that’s all he has time for: Danny’s standing in the doorway, a bright red IKEA towel around his hips. Tony’s towel.

He drags his eyes up from the spread of red to Danny’s wet hair, drops of water on his forehead.

“Good morning,” he says quickly, catching himself. Danny says nothing.

The water’s still running, the most annoying sound in the world. Abby’s still there.

Standing in the hallway doesn’t seem like much of a plan then. But going back to his room would be admitting defeat. He waits, arms crossed over his chest.

Danny leans on the doorframe, all muscles and height and relaxed expression, all on display. Like he’s auditioning for a part and wouldn’t dare shake it off.

Tony suddenly remembers why the two broke up in the first place. Danny cheated on her, so— It’s not a line he couldn’t ever cross.

And this here looks, damn, this looks like— Danny’s done it before, he might be doing it right now.

Danny’s eyes trail down, from Tony’s chest to his hips to his feet, like it’s nothing. Grinning, like he isn’t trespassing.

Despite the promises and the effort he’s obviously put into the AbbyDanny0.2 he looks like he’s considering to maybe, possibly let it go to waste while Abby’s not two feet from where he’s standing.

Danny moves to stand directly in Tony’s line of sight, leaning his weight on the wall. He shuts the door.

_Fuck you, man._

And Tony thinks that and then, exactly then, Danny’s finger hooks into his towel. His stupid long fingers start to pull at it, off of him, and it’s too much of a one eighty for Tony to be even remotely prepared. 

His hands are quick, though. Before Danny’s through with the motion, Tony grabs the hem and holds it in place. He tilts his head up, catching Danny’s eyes. Danny’s mouth falls open, grinning, and Tony’s goes dry.

It’s very easy, it easier than it should be. He lets the towel fall to the floor. 

So what if this is wrong, this is happening, and he doesn’t care about the towel like Danny didn’t care about the lilies. It falls down to the floor, Danny keeps still and everything goes very quiet.

A chain reaction, a simple absence of opposition, he’ll say if he’s ever on trial. 

Danny’s half-hard already, and that’s easy too: Tony takes him in his hand.

That’s where the chain reaction stops. Having Danny like this, Tony’s loose grip around him, it isn’t something that just happens.

He doesn’t know whether it counts, that Danny proposed to her but moved in with him.

It’s a shift in the dynamic that makes him still. Tony doesn’t as much see her as feels her eyes on him. He looks.

Abby walks out, shiny and bright in her long orange bathrobe and wet hair clinging to her neck. The bathroom light settles on her shoulders, illuminating what little of her went unnoticed. 

Danny’s not aware of her yet, and for a split second she’s lost. Danny turns his head, and Abby schools her face into something bearable. Something that won’t make Danny feel guilty. A mask she didn’t bother to put on for Tony’s sake.

He still hasn’t moved his hand. He can feel Abby’s eyes on him, her tension seeping into the air of the apartment. She hasn’t said anything. No one has.

Tony watches her, startled and quiet, immediately important, until her face shifts into recognition. She’s been here already. Abby nods, the movement slow and deliberate.

And then, her smile wide and lazy, Abby puts a hand around Danny’s shoulders. Danny jerks his hips forward, into Tony’s fist. It’s unnerving, really. He’s the one standing there naked, honest, negotiating the terms in complete silence. And he’s calm, absolutely convinced he’s winning. Danny just looks— mildly inconvenienced. If the situations were reversed, Tony would— Damn. If their hands were on him, he’d be a complete mess by second three.

And Danny’s just. Enjoying it, no second thoughts, no uncertainty.

Like maybe, and that’s a scary thought, they’ve talked about it. Maybe, maybe Abby said yes to this.

Tony wraps a loose hand around the base and moves.

He blinks, once, twice.

Abby drags her fingers down Danny’s chest, a smooth motion collecting drops of water like golden coins in a video game. Her hand settles low on Danny’s hip.

Tony keeps going, his hand shaking ever so slightly from just how much is happening right this second. Another twist of his wrist and Danny groans, his head falling against the wall, his eyes half open, looking down, watching Tony’s arm move.

Tony grows a different kind of bold then, taking risks, changing the pace, the angle, the look on his face more like Abby’s now, calm and collected and watching where this is going to end up.

They watch his hand and Tony watches them, startled at how much in sync they are. How much is left in pieces he can’t make anything of, yet they communicate something to both of them.

And, damn it, it’s his home, it’s his name on the lease, it’s his living room they are occupying, why is he the one on the outside of this—

Abby breaks character and gasps, almost instead of Danny who bites his lip holding it in, and it still escapes him, though her. Her hand flies to the back of Tony’s neck, fingers twisting violently in Tony’s hair.

Tony doesn’t have much experience with this much intensity, he feels almost detached from it, an abstract image not settling right. Danny lowers his head, eyes closed now, and Abby’s fingernails dig into Tony’s skull. 

Abby bites her lip, a flash of teeth Tony can’t tear his eyes away from, pushes forward and his mouth is on hers in a second without any conscious decision making whatsoever. 

Danny groans, more desperate now it seems than a minute ago, when he was the centre of attention. Abby responds a second later, her mouth opening up to him, and Tony can taste the toothpaste.

Danny laughs, voice catching on a second ha until he’s breathless and coming.

Tony still doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to say something.

They untangle themselves pretty quick. Abby’s hand slips off his neck, and Tony takes a step back from them. He locks himself in the bathroom, catches a glimpse of his reflection before running the hot water.

The rest of the day is slow and hot and terrible and so goddamn slow.

He lets the students go ten minutes before the end of the class and goes straight to his apartment. So what if they ran out of milk. He’s got to know where it’ll go—

They aren’t home.

They aren’t home all evening. He thinks he hears a noise at 4am but it’s just the neighbors. More to the point, Tony’s still up at 4am.

The next day Gabe and Paula have a bet and he tags along to witness the outcome. By the end of the night, two things are clear: yes, Paula can drink eight apple martinis in one hour. And Tony is completely out of his depth.

He sips on the drink Paula ordered for him. He watches the easy push and pull Gabe has with Paula, damn, that Tony himself has with both of them. It’s like scripted lines of dialogue, a word of appreciation here and there, an insult, a punchline and no consequences. It’s easy laughs between two drunken and one very sober minds. Neither tries to sleep with each other.

He wanders back home drunk on three whiskeys and one Appletini. His bed is soft, his life is simple. He forgets he’s got roommates.

For future reference, never a Martini after whiskey.

In the kitchen Abby and Danny are sitting across each other, her in black jeans and a red shirt with yellow stripes, Danny in his college tee. Tony doesn’t feel like figuring out for the very first time how to navigate around them now, but he’s gotta put some food into him.

He pours milk in Danny’s number one pick for chocolate cereal. That’s easy, the fridge is far from where they’re sitting, the cereal’s already on the kitchen counter. The spoon is trickier: he has to go around Danny to get that. He contemplates winging it. How hard could it be, cereal with no utensils, he’ll— 

“Here,” Abby grabs the little spoon from her coffee and places it near his bowl.

Tony stares at her, blinking. “Thank you.” He pops up on the high chair, takes a spoonful—

“We’d like to have sex with you.” Tony freezes mid motion.

His eyes shift between them. Abby’s all dressed up. Danny’s mouth is very very pink in this light.

It’s just so— polite. The modal auxiliary verb just makes everything seem so formal. It’s so forward Tony doesn’t know what to do with it at first. He laughs forcefully, setting down the spoon.

Danny’s smile widens. Tony tries for a nonchalance. “Now?” 

“You’ve got school,” Abby reminds him, picking up her cup of herbal tea with both hands.

“I could skip it,” he says, way too eager, way too fast.

She chuckles, glancing at Danny. “I can’t,” Abby says, dragging her bag from the table and hopping off the high chair. 

She drives them to work, humming along to the song on the radio. The morning sunshine settles on her shirt. She looks at the road while Tony studies her.

It’s almost a dare. Like, surely, they should be able to talk now. She moaned instead of Danny, that must count. Tony’s hand was on her boyfriend’s dick and she moaned— “Are you okay with this?” He asks before he knows what he’s asking. She knows immediately. She tenses up.

“Tony,” she says, like it’s a full sentence. _Tony,_ she doesn’t turn her head. 

She speaks in bits and pieces crawling with meaning. Danny might get them. To Tony they are nothing. She should teach him first, she can’t expect him to know. His name on Abby’s red mouth sounds cruel, almost. A surprise, coming from someone who quotes scripture on a daily basis.

He wants to shake it off of her, to ask her whether it’s what she wants, whether Danny asked her and she got wobbly and forgot to say no. It could happen, he’s seen it happen. Maybe they’ve been dragged into this.

“Abby?” He says, almost mocking. He’s still waiting for her to say yes. For a terrifying second he’s not sure whether she feels anything at all. 

She pulls over in her parking space. She puts on her sunglasses, conversation over. 

He never hated Paula more.

The uncomfortable chair makes him shift in his place, adding to the tension. He realises the irritating noise is his foot tapping on the floor.

It’s the worst place to be: an honor students parent-teacher conference. He should really be getting home. He’s got people. _We’d like to have sex with you_ people, damn it. He stills his foot and glances at the clock on the wall behind him.

Isobel’s mother’s talking to Ray, and he’s glad to be on the outside if that conversation. Isobel’s a lot, bumbling ambition and blatant disregard for people's feelings. Red hair, always smiling and polite until cruel— 

He stumbles onto a discovery in the middle of the parent-teacher conference, under the slowest clock in the world. The three of them start to make sense. It starts to put itself together.

In his mind Tony sees Abby watching him during a fight with Danny. Dark eyes seek him out and rest on his, weaving Tony into it, pulling Abby out of the moment. _Get me out of here_ directed not necessarily at him, but at the outside world that’s not underneath Danny’s spell. He’s hurt her before, it’s bound to hurt again.

Tony can see Danny watching him too, in the calm before the storm, bored out of his mind, stuck in this relentless loop of proving the negative.

Both of them deciding to do something, someone about it.

He leaps out of his seat when the conference’s over.

Tony comes home, and it’s still no good. He kind of expected to walk through the door and into the beginning of his new life. This is frankly underwhelming.

They are watching TV on the couch. Pop corn’s exploding in the microwave.

He sits down on the empty seat, near Abby. 

Danny comes from the kitchen with a cheery hello and a bowl he drops in Tony’s lap. He pushes them to the side, leaving Tony in the middle.

Toby looks at the screen, to the episode of Friends that’s on. All he can see are the gauzy polka dots of Abby’s shirt as she leans into his eyeline to grab the popcorn.

Danny punches his arm at a one liner he recites from memory. He lays it down on Tony’s thigh, and all it is is less forward, less something. Unlike Danny, who says nothing and doesn’t ask for a reaction.

Abby mirrors the gesture on her side, lays her hand on Tony’s other leg, closer to his knee.

He wants to say something, her name, maybe. Like that’d be an end of the conversation. His voice catches, shallow breathing and all. He says nothing.

They lock eyes, he and Abby. Tony lifts an eyebrow at her as she purses her lips. Phoebe and Anniston and Monica in their wedding dresses on the couch, and he doesn’t know how they got there, to the wedding dresses and to their hands on his thighs.

Danny’s hand is warm and solid and entirely too high.

Tony’s eyes are glued to the screen, but he isn’t following the dialogue. It’s more an anchor than anything else, a clear sign that things outside this still exist.

Abby moves an inch higher. People on the screen smile at some dumb joke his brain couldn’t bother to register. Her eyes dart to Danny, and at the edge of his vision, Danny blinks. Tony watches them figure it out, content, freaking blissful to be here at all. He gets a feeling they are deciding on everything as they go, no plan to it, no resolution. Maybe they are waiting for him to take it somewhere.

He’s one third of this even if the math doesn’t add up. It just feels so much like their thing, and he’s very much removed from the two of them. A part of a larger equation, a different one, while they battle out variables within themselves.

Danny slides off the couch onto the floor, on his knees _(Look, you are the same height)._ Abby takes the bowl of popcorn and puts it on the coffee table on her end of the couch. Tony shifts in his seat.

Danny puts both hands on either side of Tony and they set sparks underneath. Abby’s pale fingers go to Tony’s belt, weightless, careful. There’s a ring there. A big, shiny to the point of blinding, diamond on her finger.

He looks at her, her head too close to his face to focus on, the skin of her neck very close to his mouth. Danny meets her hand on Tony’s lap, worrying the ring with his index finger, pulls at the zipper. 

Abby leans back on the couch, watches Danny put his mouth on Tony.

It’s easier to watch Abby, it’s less, it’s more. Danny moves his hand in counterpoint to where his mouth slides up and down in a slow rhythm, steady, deliberate.

Tony feels fingers close around his wrist. Abby takes his hand, guides it to her thigh. The look on her is frightening: a dare. There is a surprisingly cold expanse of skin warming up beneath Tony’s fingers. He wants to pull at Danny’s hair and make him see her, make her unable to shift into her niceness, to tell him— He can’t touch Danny. He grasps at her, moves his hand higher and higher, very determined, even if at an awkward angle. Her hard eyes land on his. 

Like maybe she’ll change her mind. Like maybe she should.

She keeps glancing at Danny, her eyes unforgiving, her mouth open and breathing hard. Tony doesn’t know what to do with it. Maybe it’s because Danny’s so painfully frank about what he wants whereas Abby hasn’t said a word. To her, it’s all about Danny, Tony’s not even here—

Abby takes his hand again and he stills, dragging his eyes back up, glaring at the line of her mouth.

Her fingers interlacing with Tony’s, she smiles softly, slow, a stark contrast to Danny’s mouth on him, speeding up. Her other hand lands on his chest.

It’s— like, it’s the first time he’s ever held her hand. And sure, when she went on (twice) about the six months of holding hands it’d take for her to trust someone again, it was a turn of phrase. But he never had any intention of figuring out what holding hands really meant.

He’s been half in love with her for so long. He wishes someone would just turn the TV off, because if this isn’t the sensory overload he isn’t sure anything else could qualify. Instead he’s got Abby panting and Danny moaning. Over his own goddamn heartbeat drumming in his ears, he hears the ill-fated, ill-timed laughing track. 

He wishes they could all just stop mid-motion and breathe. He wants a time out, for a second, he wants to be able to see this from the outside, or at the very least, from their perspective. What are you thinking of, he mumbles under his nose, tugging very carefully at Danny’s hair. What the hell do you want from me, he bites back, bites her lip.

Abby moves her hand away from his chest and pulls at the hem of her T-shirt.

She unclasps her bra behind her, the hooks parting with a soft click.

Danny notices and pulls off, watches Abby with his hungry blue eyes. She turns to him, and just like that, everything about her is his again. She traces the line of his jaw, quick and familiar in a way that tugs at something in Tony. The warm weight of her hip underneath his fingertips is suddenly not enough. Danny’s mouth around him wasn’t entirely that either.  
What’s wrong with you, Tony thinks when Abby interrupts. She swings her leg over him, settling herself in his lap, Danny’s eyes still watching her from where he sat down on the floor.

Abby weight on him is even more overwhelming than Danny’s. Where he had been setting sparks she sets everything on fire, her hips rolling impatient onto his.

She moves against Tony, her pants catching at his skin. Tony grabs at her hip, his other hand pulling down on the waistline of her pyjama bottoms when her face falls flat on a curt “no.”

She stands up, tall and shivering from the cold tiles under her feet. Danny inches closer, grins and bites into her thigh. Abby’s eyes dart to his as she grunts, goosebumps, open mouth and an almost desperate look on her.

She pulls her pants down in one quick move and steps out of them. Again she straddles Tony, takes both his hands in hers. He’s given up trying to improvise on his own, his mind blank, his limbs not coordinating properly.

When Abby guides his hand to her he bends his wrist for better angle but otherwise, it’s all her, from speed to motion to permission.

Tony pushes his finger inside her and thinks: he is a part of it now. More than anything else, this is what makes his breath catch. Danny grunts, his own hand moving fast inside his pants. Tony tears his eyes away from the man, like a halfhearted attempt at proving something. He watches Abby instead.

Where Danny was eating it up, Abby shies away at his open expression. Tony tries to shift it into something less frightening, as she did, for Danny. 

But then. It’s not something she’d do for, to him. So he lets the adoration wash over him and stay there, permanent.

She kisses it off him, wide-eyed, breathless. 

Pressing her head into his neck, she rides his fingers as her own circle around his wrist, changing the angle. Danny’s free hand slide up Tony’s thigh, and then move up to hers. Abby sets her palm flat on Tony’s chest and throws her head back, mouth open on a silent moan. 

He’s so lost in making her moan again, he doesn’t notice that her hand’s on him, her eyes trailing down: everything about her turned away from Danny. Everything about her almost his. 

She tightens around his fingers. Danny bites down on a grunt, just like two days ago.

Tony comes a minute later, Abby’s hand on him, Danny’s eyes on him too. She’s hot and careless, her grip tightening, still going at the wrong pace. But it’s her, with her lost look and a year’s worth of no-s, and for a second, she looks almost happy. 

It might just still be six months, come to think about it.

They go to bed, to his bed, “My back hurts from the couch,” Danny says, moving to the bedroom. “Oh, that was plenty,” he says when Tony grabs at his hip, leaning in and Danny pushes it aside.

It might still be six month, not holding hands, but maybe doing this. It still seems like a bullshit system, but hey, he thinks, still blissful and out of his mind happy, he can do that.

He’ll wake up tomorrow and— Six months won’t be an option, he realises suddenly. There’s just no way it’ll last this long.

It’s all too fragile to be stable: there is no way he could hold on to two people at once. He can’t hold them together either. It’s too many probabilities per square foot of his one-bedroom apartment.

This all comes down to a metaphor, he’s sure. There has to be a way to relate this in a matter of words, quick and sharp. But he’s not that good at putting things into words, he, turns out, isn’t even that good at putting hands on people. What does this really amount to, he thinks as the pair of them drift off to sleep.

When Abby makes a soft sound and grabs at Danny’s arm, Tony’s already decided that this here, will never hold. But then her hand reaches forward, the diamond on her finger catching light. Searching.

He really, really, really doesn’t want to read into it.


End file.
